A Desire for Death
by dreamyshadows
Summary: Genevieve Smith is a young and beautiful woman living in New York. She manages her own cafe, attends free book fairs, and donates whatever she can to charity. But Vivi is also a bounty hunter. Only, this bounty hunter deals with prey of the supernatural kind. She's badass, equipped and...unnerved. Something has come up, and she needs help. Are the Winchesters and a friend upto it?
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone! I'm a new member on FFnet, but Im not a new writer :) I've been writing for a while now, but its mostly shit. There's this new story that I just started, and its sort of Supernatural, but it also has my own original characters. I hope it's okay, and reviews are very welcome!

Here you go!

_Genesis - I_

If she would have been given a choice to be somewhere else at this moment, she would have jumped that chance. Shagged it even. But unfortunately for Genevieve Anne-Smith Klein, there was _no _such option. Hadn't ever been. Well, not for a very long time anyway.

So sighing that usual sigh, a sound she-_and her coworkers-_were now familiar with; Genevieve, aptly pet named "Vivi" by her vibrant roommate, walked out of the tiny kitchen, and into the main area.

Annie's Corner Café was…well, exactly what the name stated. A soft little place in the more quieter corners of a raucous city known as Manhattan. It provided Vivi with the tranquil feeling she sometimes so desperately needed, and also made her feel closer to Annie; her late mother.

She smiled softly, that little movement of her lips doing wonders to a fatigued face. Unusual, yet stunning violet eyes glinted in the morning sun, and the gentle slope of her cheekbones lifted in unrestrained glee. Unrestrained, just Genevieve herself.

In front of her, the beautiful and busy New Yorkers made their way furiously across the sidewalks; the womens stilettoes tapping sharply against the concrete, while the mens jackets flapped around them. All of them walked with an unconcerned air, and Vivi suddenly realized why the world called New Yorkers "insufferably rude" people.

Their ordinary faces, done up to show something extraordinary-_something superficial_- remained almost stoic to the place surrounding them. None cared about the people they bumped into, none cared for the agony behind those stupendously done masks. But then the favor was returned almost emphatically. Nobody bothered to know about the pains of others, and no one wanted to express their fears. Not really.

The gentle jingle of a wind chime secured at the top of the wood door alerted her to a presence. Not a customer, her mind rationalized even before she turned around. It was too early. The Café didn't open for another hour. Taking in a deep breath, her hand tightened into a fist as she faced the intruder with a balanced turn, heavily in contrast with her usually clumsy feet.

A man. An _old_ man. Old enough to be her father-_if she had one-_stood in the doorway; his narrow but somehow powerful frame blocking the feeble sunlight making its way through the colored glass. Upon a surprisingly regal face sat a mysterious smile. A smile belonging not to an enemy, but to a friend. After living this long, and with her circumstances, Genevieve had honed her instincts to tell the truth.

So her posture relaxed, and the fist came undone; loosening into a long fingered hand belonging to an artist. Or a warrior. She raised her violet lenses to regard the man ahead, and her eyebrows lifted as he broke into amused laughter. His frame shook as he walked further inside, completely disregarding the "closed" neon sign glaring at him from his right.

Vivi's own frame bristled as the old man seated himself in a booth, and patted the opposite chair while looking straight into her eyes.

"I don't really sit with strangers at six thirty in the morning pops."

Her tone was slightly gravelly, but it was firm. Exactly what she need it to be. Thankfully, the mousy squeak from last night had disappeared. A welcome development. But the voice that made many shake, only seemed to trigger another bout of laughter from the man's mouth.

"How about sitting with an old friend?"

If someone other than Genevieve Anne-Smith Klein had been standing in the restaurant, witnessing what was happening right before her eyes, that woman would have freaked out. Or fainted.

But not Vivi.

So when the man's face began to distort; his previously chiseled features melting down to form a more weather worn face, realization dawned upon her. He grew slightly taller, a slight pot belly making its appearance as well. And a joyful smile lifted her nude tinted lips.

"Father Edward!"

She almost ran, covering the less than two feet distance within a moment, and thrust herself headlong into the old man's arms. A familiar smell of the Church mixed with something only belonging to Father Edward entered her nostrils; almost immediately calming her frazzled nerves.

Reverend Edward Newburger wheezed under her crushing hold, an almost choked laugh escaping him. He sighed at Vivi's unfeigned enthusiasm, and gently patted her shoulder. She buried closer into his arms, the comforting feeling of being in a father's arms overwhelming her.

Well, father figure. And he was damn closest to what she ever remembered having.

"Vivi, how have you been?"

Ten minutes later, both the Father and Genevieve held a steaming cup of tea in their hands; hers almost finished, the Reverend's untouched.

Breathing in deeply, she sat down beside the Father; taking his perpetually warm hand within her unusually cold one. His skin temperature was always a bit high, but it was nothing to worry about. Although most people thought the Father had a constant low grade fever, he was in fact, a shape shifter.

A shape shifter could morph into anyone at will, having something touched by the other in their possession. Their body temperatures remained about 2 degrees higher than normal humans, and about 5 degrees more than Vivi.

"Father what's wrong?"

Edward's startling green eyes met with her violet ones, and expressed everything he was afraid to say. With every passing second, she felt fear, worry and then finally anger sear her veins.

"Who's trying to kill you Father?"

Her companion swallowed tightly, his hand circling the rim of the still untouched tea. Little ripples formed upon the surface, starting from the middle and then vanishing as they moved to the edges. His emerald gaze flittered from here to there, stopping fractionally at the open windows.

Vivi understood the almost imperceptible motion of his neck immediately, and rose to shut the enormous windows. Worry began to eat away at her as she saw the Father's hands begin to shake, and the old man's intelligent forehead furrow.

"They know Genevieve. They know what I am, and they have seen my true form. They wont stop hunting me."

His voice shook as he gritted out the words, a shaking hand going to touch his side. He winced upon his own touch, even though it seemed gentle.

"Who Father, who? Who knows? Tell me their names!"

Before Edward could tell her the blasted names, a familiar sound of chimes announced another visitor. Vivi's eyes fixed upon the clock over their heads, and she groaned aloud. The sound lay in extreme contrast to the cheery tone behind her.

The voice of Jeremiah Barker rang through the mostly empty Café, and he almost skipped to where the Father and Vivi were seated. Unfeigned and clear infatuation glittered in his eyes as he dropped into the seat beside them, wordlessly taking a sip from Edward's tea.

"Heya Jen. Heya Pops."

A bipartisan viewer would state that disgust was the emotion decorating Vivi and Edward's face, but Jeremiah was extremely partisan. Especially where _his Jen _was concerned.

The beautiful woman got up, moving behind their uninvited member to make gagging motions behind his back. Thankfully, this little movement made the Father crack a hesitant smile, and it seemed he'd momentarily forgotten his pressing worries.

She walked into the kitchen, another smile lighting up her face as she saw the clock. In another three minutes, this little Café would be teeming with "rude" New Yorkers. Happily, she turned the stovetop on, and began to beat the eggs for Annie's famous pancakes.

While her lithely muscled arms made rhythmic circles in the sticky and sweet batter, the chimes sounded again. And again. She stopped, her gaze once again snapping to the large clock. It was still a minute for the place to open, and everyone knew it. So why two visitors?

And why hadn't Barker said anything?

An unfortunate, prickling sensation clawed its way up her back; raising the small hairs upon her neck in the process. Her fist tightened once again, this time with intention to strike. With no sound, Vivi inched her way towards the door.

She breathed in deep, her eyes widening when the air fogged in front of her. Within a second, the temperature dropped a degree. Her long fingers seized a knife, and she kicked the door open, running out like a shot.

Too late.

The Father was gone, and Jeremiah Barker lay dead; surrounded in a pool of his own blood. What appeared to be a gunshot wound gushed the dark liquid from his chest, those murky brown lenses snapped open in rampant fear.

Genevieve staggered against the door, the knife leaving her fingers, and clattering noisily to the floor. Panting loudly, she edged back towards the kitchen, only to be stopped by another seemingly harmless chime.

A loud scream echoed throughout the room, little ripples developing in the Father's tea.


	2. Chapter 2

Nightmare

_He was running. Running away from something he couldn't see, running far into the swallowing dark ahead of him. It slowly began consuming him, this black cloud of smoke that swirled all around. Scattered screams sounded close behind him, and he pressed numb hands against his ears in an effort to block out the noise. _

_He knew he was dreaming. No, not dreaming-having a nightmare. He knew it wasn't real. But as something pulled him back into the darkness, he felt the reality of a blade piece his heart. A vivid pain blasted all across his body; strangling a broken scream from his slack mouth._

Jake Aldrin lurched forward in his single bed, his lean body tangled into the pristine sheets around him. Cold rivulets of sweat ran down his forehead like a river, and dropped eerily onto his sharp collar bones. The temperature suddenly felt like it had dropped three degrees, and that didn't feel like such a good thing.

Panting, he rose from hell-_his bed-_and walked drunkenly into his kitchen. The glass around him reflected his presence blurrily, the hasty outline an insolent insult to his stunning physicality. Uncaring, he shrugged his shoulders and opened the fridge to lift a bowl of half eaten noodle soup. While grabbing a spoon from the pantry, he microwaved the late night snack for about thirty seconds, and then switched off the lights.

With his breath, heart beat and blood pressure hopefully under better control, Jake made his way into the living room. Plonking himself down upon the sofa, he pressed the red button for the flat screen to fire up. Some odd program lay running on an entertainment channel, so he flipped to News. That wasn't so brilliant either.

Apparently, there had been a murder and a kidnapping at some local Café in Manhattan. Police were searching, but they had no leads. The owner, a young woman of twenty three, was reported to be in shock, and hadn't been in a position to say anything. They'd sent her packing to a relative after doing their regular, yet obviously _fruitless _research.

Jake scoffed, and thrust a spoonful of soup into his mouth; grimacing slightly upon the three day old taste. Maybe he should have listened to Sam and hired a housekeeper. He really did need one.

He rubbed a hand over his fatigued face, and leaned his head back. These nightmares were going to be the death of him.

He'd stopped doing _that _a few months ago, so why the insane dreams? He'd never had them _during _his unusual job position, so what was the reason for them now? Breathing deeply once again, he closed his terrorized eyes and grabbed the quilt lying next to the sofa. He had no burning desire to return to his bed.

Not until the blasted nightmares stopped anyway.

A few more tears leaked from the edge of her violet eyes, and fell to the granite table she'd laid her head on. She'd hoped for some peace and some quiet. A distraction from the events that had eventuated a few hours ago. But there had been none.

How could there be?

Where people ran from such unexplainable things, it was her job, her duty to solve these crimes. Give answers to people who'd been victims of these-_unexplainable events. _A robbery. That's what the arrogant, doughnut munching police officer had told her.

_But then why was the money still in the register?_

No answer. Obviously, something she'd expected. Genevieve knew exactly who had done this. Well, not who, but _what. _The thing she didn't know, however, was the _why. _She'd had no tangles with his kind for at least six months, so why had he suddenly decided to pay her a visit? And the Father-

Vivi jerked back in her chair, almost toppling off the shaky wood in the process. Why hadn't she thought of this before? Before the attack…before Barker had come in, the Father had wanted to give her some names.

Was _this _what was hunting him?

Growling low in her throat, she ran a trembling hand through her auburn locks; tousling the voluminous mass upon the harsh touch. Each strand glinted in the gentle sun light filtering through a cracked window, and flitted from a deep chestnut to a regal Titian. The color had been her mother's gift. So was Genevieve's stellar frame. Granted, her ample bust and hips were an inconvenience to her job position, but they were, however, a great pride to carry.

She sighed and lifted herself off the chair, wincing as she felt-_or didn't feel-_her butt going numb. Grumbling once again in unintelligible tones of the lack of comfortable seating in the house, she prepared herself a cup of tea. It was an automatic anti-depressant, and the tastiest thing invented by mankind.

With a large mug of Darjeeling in one hand, and the other rubbing her behind to get the circulation going, she bent over to pull some cookies out of the pantry.

"What the fuck?"

Jake had never thought that he'd see this particular welcome, but he had been wrong before, so maybe this was just an addition to his list of unfortunate assumptions.

A woman-_an absolutely stunning woman-_was bent over in what one could only think was a very _serviceable _position. Her generous rump lay slightly raised, and a slim hand almost stroked that jean clad derriere in an intended manner. Auburn locks trailed down a slender back, and fell to the nip in her waist.

"What the fuck?"

It definitely wasn't the most elegant thing to say at this point of time, but it was all he could think of considering his brain had gone in retardation upon the sight of her behind. He had no shame in admitting that he was an ass man through and through. And, well, this lady here had the finest cushion Jake had ever seen.

His expletive alarmed her-_as expected-_and the welcome gift whirled around like a spinning top; the mug in her right hand trembling dangerously.

If he'd thought that the lady's rump was stellar, then her eyes were a sheer blow to his crotch.

_Violet._

Jake had never seen lenses that color. Ever.

People often compared blue eyes to the sky or to the sea, green to emeralds, but this…he had no words on how to describe her eyes. All he knew was that they were out worldly. These simply could not belong to a human being.

But she definitely looked one. Well, she looked like a goddess-but she appeared human enough.

Yes, he was wallowing in admiration like a pathetic little puppy, and his usual guard was a little down. But did that mean his instincts were tuned out? Nope. Not at all. He had no place for such risks in his life.

So when the woman's fist came toward his face at the speed of light, he ducked. Then his own much muscular arm reached out and caught her wayward fingers in a flash, restraining those valiantly fighting digits. Then came her expected attempt of kneeing him, and since it was foreseen-it was also blocked.

Her violet eyes flashed angrily, the color deepening to a menacing purple. A previously limp left hand flew right by his face, sparing him a broken nose by a mere inch. The other knee rose as well, ramming directly into his stomach.

Jake groaned, her sudden attack lighting stars in front of his eyes. He staggered a bit, but his grip on her hand remained stable, and he nabbed the furiously punching left one as well. She struggled against him, both her wrists secured by his strong hold. Against himself, a smirk pulled at his lips. Whoever this woman was, she was damn good. But he was better.

As her voluptuous body moved sensually against his, he felt a complicated response arise in return. He groaned inwardly and distanced himself from the fighting siren in front of him. Wrong move, apparently.

She realized almost immediately that her legs were now no longer prisoners, and the pretty thing took advantage of it. Once again, her knee went straight to his groin; this time catching him unaware. Jake doubled over, stars bursting rapidly underneath his eyelids. Unfortunately for Mata Hari, his grip didn't loosen.

She kicked and flailed, but Jake had had enough. With one hand holding both of hers, he reached the other one into the back pocket of his jeans. A small piece of wire was withdrawn and tied around the slender wrists, but not too tight. Whoever the hell she was, he couldn't bring himself to hurt her.

With those wanton hands taken care of, he bent down and secured another length of wire around ankles; successfully stopping that assault as well.

"Now, why don't you tell me your name beautiful?"


End file.
